The Face of the Enemy
by StripedFuzzySocks
Summary: In the midst of the end of the world, Panem rises from the ruins of natural disasters and comes victorious out of WWIII. In a display of her new power over the surviving nations, the first Hunger Games are created. The catch: the Victor gets their country back, permanently freed. Everyone wants the crown. But in the terror of the Arena, will they forget the face of the real enemy?
1. Prologue Part 1: War, Terrible War

**The Face of the Enemy**

**The First Hunger Games**

* * *

_Japan: ... the world would cease to exist in 1999._

_France: The end of the world - wow. That really brings back memories._

_England: I wouldn't worry if I were you. The end of the world is never going to happen._

_Japan: Is that so? I should probably tell someone._

* * *

**Prologue Part 1 - War, Terrible War**

* * *

Never in the history of mankind was there a war like World War III.

A record-breaking number of twenty-six countries were directly involved in combat on the battlefront, and countless other nations gave their support from the sidelines. The odds of twenty-five armies with the world on their side losing against one relatively new nation should've been nonexistent... and yet years later they were left with no choice but surrender. They underestimated Panem's power and the technological forefronts they'd brought to warcraft. Who could've foreseen such worldwide devastation from just _one_ country? No one could even have imagined the dreams of Panem or the why behind it all. Many wanted to blame America. After all, didn't Panem arise from the country's second civil war? If they'd only been tougher or at least accepted help from their allies, it all could've been prevented. But it wasn't, and nobody could change the past no matter how much they wanted to.

It was as if the Earth itself was fighting them - tsunamis, flooding from the melting of the icecaps, and earthquake devastation had swallowed much of the seven continents into ocean, particularly North America, Europe, and Asia. Mass populations evacuated into the lands that remained, resulting in the failure to give everyone disaster aid, culture clashes, mass destruction, and millions of casualties. And America wasn't the only one dealing with civil war. Worldwide, people were angry at their governments, unable to help everyone, and therefore were seen as weak and unjust to their citizens. Everywhere countries were being overthrown and all in the wake of natural disasters continuing their torrent. Electricity paths were cut and communications were down. It became impossible to reach anyone who wasn't right next to you. The country personifications meanwhile were very sick as they watched the world devolve into anarchy.

To put it simply, it was chaos. And then came Panem. America was officially split in two - the US claimed the north half and Panem the south. She was young but ambitious and used her newfound power to travel worldwide, rallying revolting citizens to join her "perfect" new society that promised so many promises - and they believed her. The surviving nations were conquered, but the citizens-turned-soldiers no longer wanted to join her country. Now that the people themselves had overthrown their own nations, they wanted to keep their own countries and cultures alive, just run by them in place of their old governments. The Russians wanted to stay Russians, the Germans Germans, the French French, and so on. They rejected Panem as their leader.

Panem, by then far stronger after having conquered America and Canada who were too close and weak to resist her rule, used the entire combined North American strength to retake the nations she'd fought so hard for. And, thanks to astonishing technological innovations in warcraft, Panem succeeded. Twenty-five countries were forcibly bound under a single dictatorship run by none other than the famous Snow family bloodline. The head of the family was crowned as Panem's boss, whose first order of business was the execution of all the other nations' bosses.

Panem's first demand was the presence of the twenty-five country personifications at her mansion. The other nations that played smaller supporting roles, were too easy to conquer, or simply didn't have any useful qualities for Panem, were decimated with nuclear bombs. Once there, the defeated countries were immediately seized by stylists who beautified them to their gorgeous prime. France was heartily won over, and even Germany admitted he never looked better. It was almost as if they didn't just lose a war that meant their deaths. Quickly after, the countries were ushered into golden chariots drawn by magnificent horses, which Poland especially appreciated.

The next thing they knew they were being paraded through the Capitol city surrounded by the deafening roar of a very colorful and overenthusiastic crowd as Panem's national anthem blared from all sides. Some willingly soaked up the love and attention of the crowd, even (*cough* France *cough*) blowing kisses into the stands that set off seizures of excitement. People were cheering and throwing roses into the chariots, some were even chanting the names of the countries that caught their eye. Some fan favorites were Prussia, Germany, France, and Russia for reasons the nations didn't yet know. But they would soon enough.

Even with the grand reception they were unexpectedly getting, the looming question hung at the back of their minds: was this all in celebration of their execution? But if so, why would the crowd gaze at them so lovingly (more like obsessively), and what was the meaning behind the parade and dress-up? Was it all a big tease - the pomp and circumstance to make a laughing stock out of them in their final moments? Mixed reactions surrounded their unanswered questions. Finally after twenty minutes of celebration, the horses pulled into a circular stone drive in perfect formation so each chariot had equal distance apart. The countries gazed upwards as the anthem's loop faded to an end, centering all the attention on Panem - the enemy they all so hated - smiling behind her podium.

"Welcome, surviving countries of the world!" She laughed and they scowled. She ignored this and continued in her strange high-pitched accent that even the most obnoxious sounding countries found irritating.

"You've all made it this far, you've chosen to fight, which tells me one thing: you're survivors. And survivors put living above everything else - that's something I've secretly admired about you all. You were willing to do _anything_ to come of that war victorious. Think about it - _anything_. No matter the sacrifice, the violence, the physical and emotional costs." Panem paused a moment to let the words sink in.

"Well, I for one am finished with war. It disgusts me now, as it should for you too. That's why I have spared you all and brought you here together. I am passing a new law that is to be enacted all throughout Panem - as you are now my districts. Violence of any kind is to be abolished and the involvement - or suspicion of involvement - in the act will result the severest of punishments. Once a year, to satisfy your _hunger_," Panem laughed a little to herself yet no one knew why.

"An event will be held - but more on that later. Each of your districts will be assigned a different field of work that is to be the only available occupation - no exceptions. Immigrating to or having any kind of contact with other districts is strictly forbidden. Expect my military to be on constant lookout for lawbreakers. Other than that, you are free to keep your individual cultures and way of life alive and even keep your own flags and language. Patriotism for your district is allowed, as long as you never forget your place in Panem." With that, she grinned and spread her arms out wide in a sign of welcome. "And with that said, let the games begin!"

* * *

The party was unbelievable. The countries didn't even have time for relief that their lives were spared, mourning their independence, or that at least they could keep their cultures, because left and right were tables and tables of endless food (they had delicacies from all over, so everyone was happily surprised to see something from home). Pretty girls were vying to meet and fawn over them as if they were national heroes. There was dancing, fireworks, live music, and a lot - _a lot _- of drinking. At every turn it seemed there was a drunk Panemian shoving alcohol down their throats, and in no time at all every country was so wasted they were barely coherent enough to enjoy the party's other extravagant details.

The poor underaged Latvia and Belarus spent most of the party's final hours throwing up in the bathroom and the lightweight Canada passed out even earlier than that. The loud, crazy night faded into a blur as all of them eventually dropped from intoxication and Avoxes were sent to carry each of them to their prearranged living quarters. They slept soundly through the night, naïf to the horror awaiting the week before them. In other words, everything was securely under Panem's control.

_The brunettes' cheerful laughter rang like silver bells through the air as Italy spun her around the dance floor, his own laughter just as sweet and carefree. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd laughed or enjoyed the company of a pretty girl. And Italy loved laughing and pretty girls! He pulled her in close in time with the music's final beat and the girl blushed at their closeness. She hugged him in tighter as if afraid he'd let go and gazed into his eyes with a dreamy sigh._

_"Oh, Italy." She swooned. "I wish this night would never end."_

_"Ve~ me too!" Italy smiled innocently. "I love a-dancing with you."_

_The girl's eyes watered with unshed tears and her gaze never broke the unknowing Italian's. "I'll miss you so much, Italy."_

_Italy laughed good-naturedly. "Miss me? But why would you a-miss me?"_

* * *

**A/N: So, this was the prologue: basic overview of the world before the games and the events leading to them. It's not exactly going to be like Suzanne Collin's take on the Games - obviously some changes were made to accommodate Hetalia. And one quick note: I'm not pairing up the countries into 12 districts, but instead there are now 24 districts so everyone gets their own. You might've noticed I used 25 countries as tributes, but that will be explained in the next (and final) part of the prologue. It will be about the same length as this one, but expect the rest of the story's chapters to be much longer. Additionally, the chapters will be told more personally through each of the country's eyes as they go through the games (in SYOT format). Oh, and the little exchange at the beginning was taken from Hetalia: World Series Season 4 Episode 33. And a quick thank you to all of the other Hetalia - Hunger Games crossover authors who inspired me to add my own story to the mix! (:**

**Here is a list of all the countries participating in the hunger games:**

**Prussia, France, Spain, Belarus, Finland, Japan, China, Germany, Hungary, Ukraine, Italy, Greece, Sweden, Latvia, Denmark, Canada, Austria, America, Russia, England, Estonia, Poland, Lithuania, Romano, and Norway**

**Happy Hunger Games!**

**-StripedFuzzySocks-**


	2. Prologue Part 2: The Curse

**Prologue Part 2 - The Curse**

* * *

China awoke to a very annoying beeping that caused a low moan to erupt from underneath the mountain of pillows and blankets from the previous night's thrashing. But as soon as he sat up to destroy the source of the nuisance, the room went silent. Frowning, he groggily ran a hand through his tangled nest of black hair and looked at the disheveled bed he'd apparently spent the night in. China could've sworn he'd dreamt something, maybe nightmares, but his mind was aggravatingly blank. So blank in fact that he had trouble remembering anything from the night before. Then it all came flooding back at once. The defeat, the stylists, the parade, Panem, and that massive party... ugh, it was all that damned alcohol shoved down his system - he was sure of it.

As if on cue, China's hands flew to grasp his head as a migraine pounded like bombs going off in his brain. No... no, it felt more like his brain was in a blender - a meat grinder - turned on high. He moaned and managed to yank the covers over his head again to shut out the light assaulting his vision. Curled into the fetal position, China then found comfort in cursing people. Curse the stupid drunkards that didn't respond to _"No, I've had enough"_. Curse Panem and her stupid dictatorship and her stupid weapons and her stupid war. Curse America for not having the balls to kill the demon when he could. America could suck ball for that. Yeah, suck two balls and England's - China screamed as another burst of sharp pain exploded in his skull and pounding it did not help in the least.

Distantly, he heard a door slide open and something being set down on the nightstand next to him. The covers were gently pulled back, but China was too busy grasping his pounding head to resist. He only hoped the person would leave him in his misery already. Those douchy Panemians were the ones who caused it in the first place so why couldn't they at least let him be? He hated them. He hated them all. They could suck - a glass pressed against the Chinese man's lips and on instinct they parted to let in a rush of cool water and a pill. _Wait_. A pill?! So they were drugging him again were they?

In a fury, China tried to spit them out, but the capsules had already been swallowed and it was too late. Disoriented, he swung at the mysterious person who'd drugged him, but his fist met air. Swallowing, China opened his eyes to meet those of a frightened teenaged boy... a frightened Chinese teenaged boy actually. Instantly the country regretted his abrasiveness and prepared to apologize, but a tray of breakfast food was set gently on his lap before the words formed. He looked back at the teen who was already leaving and his curiosity compelled him to say something.

"Wait!" He called out, causing the boy to stop and face him again.

It was then that it came to China the boy was a servant. Obviously, under the rule of such a ruthless dictatorship, there had to be many underlings the wealthy minority used, but it was terribly unsettling to see someone of his own nationality forced into such a position. And so _young_. Serving was no place for a youthful eighteen-year-old in China's opinion. Wait, eighteen... that couldn't mean. Panem _had_ taken quite a few war prisoners and since they were never able to be rescued, no one knew what became of them. Well, it wasn't a mystery anymore. China smiled at the boy.

"Thank you, aru." He said, ignoring his surprised reaction. The boy nodded and left the room without speaking.

China sighed and shifted his gaze back to the enormous platter of breakfast foods. You tiao, an oversized bowl of warm rice porridge, piles of baozi. A tall cup of noodle beef soup he'd never finish in one sitting was still steaming hot, and that only covered what was on one side of the tray. There was an elegant glass of soy milk off to the side, the only thing on the tray they'd managed not to oversize. Yes, it _was_ weirdly considerate of Panem to serve free breakfast from his homeland while he stayed, but the portions were way off. Just this assortment of food would be enough to feed an entire frontline squadron for a day. China sighed again. He had to get his line of thinking off fighting - there'd be no more of that under Panem's watchful eye.

Suddenly worried the large portions were her way of saying he wouldn't see food for awhile, he starting stuffing every mouthful he could hold, being careful not to overdo it on the richest stuff. It was a substantial amount for him, and he finally had to stop when it felt like his stomach was bursting. Ugh, how could America do this every day? China felt sick, and it looked like he'd barely made a dent in the breakfast. Perhaps it wasn't a warning. Maybe it was simply Panem's culture to make everything unnecessarily big. He set the tray down on the nightstand and realized with a small smile that his migraine had disappeared. Somehow he knew he had the pill to thank for that. China frowned when he really thought about for the first time that he had spent the night here.

It was truly a relief not to have been executed yesterday, but if they were all districts now, shouldn't they have been sent home afterwards? Ugh, it was all too confusing and dreadful for China to wrap his head around. The world had changed too much in four thousand years in his opinion - he just wanted to go home and forget the whole ordeal. China gasped suddenly. He'd left panda at home! Oh, someone better be taking care of him... surely. They had to be. Just as the country ripped off the bedsheets to leave, the wall across from his bed whirred to life with electric color when it had been blank just a moment before. Surprised, China waited to see if this was supposed to be a gift or some kind of cruel trick.

Panem's narcissistic anthem sounded from a hidden speaker somewhere as the dramatically shadowed image of Chinese troops marching forwards faded into the wall screen. China's breath hitched in his throat as scenes of battle played before him - or more like he was watching his army die in fifty different versions of gore. In one shot his boss was executed. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Other scenes came up, civilians crying and running from something off camera, a burning Chinese flag, and a scene from after the war while the country was occupied by Panem's military. _Still is._ China reminded himself. Over it all, a man's voice narrated:

"War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the war that devastated our land." China couldn't help but notice the word choice _our_. "Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought and sorely won. It was decreed unanimously by Panem and her council of advisors that we would never let the world see such devastation again. Every year, twenty-four districts rescued from the war -," _Rescued._ Yes, they had very interesting word choice. "Will offer up in tribute one young man or woman between the ages of twelve and eighteen in a public Reaping. These tributes will serve in a pageant of honor and sacrifice in a televised Arena where they will fight to the death until a lone Victor remains. The Victor, bathed in riches, will serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. They will earn prosperity for their respective district for the year of their victory."

China was lightheaded. He could faint right then. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't do this. They're _children_... The screen brightened with a news story atmosphere and Panem smoothly stepped into the shot, smiling.

"And that's where you come in." She said like a teacher introducing the lesson. "Because we have decided to show you forgiveness after all you've been through, we will allow one out of the twenty-five surviving nations permanent independence from Panem as long as said country doesn't interfere with ours. However, freedom comes at a price - victory. Over the course of the next few weeks, we will be hosting our very first Hunger Games with the countries as tributes!"

China knew overeating had been a mistake. He hunched over the edge of the bed and hurled everything he'd managed to scarf down, shaking with fear, shock, and his newly empty stomach. He couldn't even think, but somehow managed to look back at the screen where Panem stood smiling and waiting as if she had expected a hurling pause from everyone.

"You have most likely noticed your alcohol intake from the Welcome Celebration had some unpleasant side effects. We apologize for your trouble, but it was a necessary evil to ensure a great game. We can't have anyone cheating by using abilities gained from being a country, not human. So, we fixed the problem. Being humanized, you can now die for a _proper_ fight to the death." She took another shock pause, but China didn't need it this time. He was frozen in comprehension. "Don't fear, for you can win and be reverted back to your country form in all its glory. If you lose... well, your _district_ form will be very much helpless. You, as well as future tributes, will be given three days to train for the upcoming games as well as learn important survival skills that will come in handy in the Arena. Our hired trainees will assist you."

"Additional rules of the game and tasks to complete beforehand will be further explained in the Training Center. The apartment you've been given for your stay is shared with another tribute for space conservation. By taking the elevator down to basement level, you will arrive at the Training Center. All other levels besides the basement, floor, and your own apartment are blocked to limit communication distractions. You have one hour to prepare yourself and dress in the provided training clothes before you need to start training. Attendance is mandatory and failure to arrive on time could hinder your chances of survival." Panem continued cooly.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She smiled brightly again, her mood swing instant. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

* * *

**A/N: This concludes the third person prologue. The rest will be shifting first person POVs of our dear countries. (; In the interest of fairness, some events of the game will be based on the outcome of an online probability machine: Fruit Picker. It's basically like spinning a wheel on a game show. The plot won't be _solely_ dependent on it, because that would probably make for a very confusing and possibly unrealistic game - I'll just spin it when I need to make non biased decisions (hey, we all have our favorite characters we want to see make it through).**

**See you next time!**


	3. Training Day One

**Training Day One**

* * *

**N. Italy Veneziano**

* * *

Nothing makes sense, not anymore. Even after the woman I've come to hate finishes her speech, the images continue. Italy burns and everyone screams. The flag is ashes, my boss is a corpse. Germany can't save me this time... Germany can't save Germany. My chest heaves with another shortness of breath and tears flow freely down my puffed red cheeks, hanging heavy on my eyelashes. With each blink, they pour like I've released a dam but I'm hardly conscious of it now. The world is collapsing. I've never dealt with suffering on this level. Death, all of it. So much in such a small amount of time and it's destroying the hope I've clung to my entire life.

I don't want to die as much as the next person, but... but my little Italian boys and girls don't stand a chance. It's not fair to make them fight in this game, and no matters between countries should ever change that. They're _children_. Surely they must see this... my sobbing intensifies when I realize how truly slim my chances are of surviving, of saving my country. My children will die because of me, because I'm not strong enough on my own. Every year I'll have to send an innocent child to their death, have to look them in the eyes knowing I'm the one to blame. But even if I did win, Germany would be dead! I don't want Germany to die! And Romano - they can't take my brother away! He's as weak as I am! Or what about my friend Japan or big brother France or even Austria (he did take care of me in his own way)? _None_ of us deserves this. And certainly not our kids.

I'm hyperventilating now and I can't control the loud sobs and shivering taking me over, blurring the lines of reality as my mind collapses. I scream when I feel strong arms lifting me up out of bed, gently but firmly planting my feet on the ground. I don't know how, but I find it within me to stand and gaze weakly at the owner of the arms. The face that meets mine is immediately unsettling and I feel a cold shiver run down my spine at the eye contact we make. I vaguely recognize him to be Sweden, recalling the stories I've heard from Poland and Estonia at world meetings. They weren't nice.

"You n'd to dr'ss f'r tr'ning now." He says in a calm deep voice.

I'm stunned and can only swallow in response. A lone tear slides down my cheek, although my sobbing has subsided. Quietly, after seeing I'm unable to move, he takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom, gesturing to the sleek black outfit folded neatly on a shelf. I glance back at Sweden to see him already in uniform - the shirt bearing a small Swedish flag is slim-fitting, but the dark khaki pants are looser and look comfortable to wear. He seems to be waiting for me, but the weight of emotions bearing down so hard before haven't quite left and I can't motivate myself to get ready. He sighs and places a hand on my shoulder. Knowing he's only trying to help, I fight the urge to flinch at the touch.

"You h've to at l'st try. F'r y'r k'ds s'ke." He tells me and closes the door behind him on the way out.

I sniffle, wipe away the tear streaks left on my face, and numbly start to undress. At some point while I was asleep last night someone must have switched out my fancy parade tuxedo with soft, plain pajamas. I manage to smile a little, silently thanking the person who'd helped me, regardless of the situation we were all in. The training outfit fits perfectly and I have to wonder if Panem ever got her hands on my size. Somehow, someway she must have. She certainly hasn't shown any limits so far. I gingerly pat the little Italian flag sewn into the front of the otherwise plain black shirt and think, _They haven't all been burned._

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and leave my bathroom and room to find a luxurious living area with a large TV planted on the wall facing the plush seatings. I can't help but marvel at the high quality of the apartment's materials as I traipse past an elegant dining hall with another turn that reveals a crystal clear elevator that I assume is the one I'm meant to take to the Training Center. Sweden wasn't anywhere to be found in the rooms I passed, so I assume he's left without me and push the 'down' button. The elevator gives a soft hum and a few seconds later, the crystal door slides open and I quietly enter the space. I notice how my floor, six, along with the lobby and basement are the only floors glowing and curiously I try to press one of the others. Nothing happens, so I shrug and choose the basement where I remember Panem saying the Training Center was.

I gasp at the elevator's speed, plummeting downwards like a rocket. It takes every amount of strength I can possibly conjure to not fall in a heap again and let my emotions pile out. It's not fair for me to, not to my people back home. And... scariness aside, Sweden is right. I'm a country, not a very strong country, but a country nonetheless and there are generations of children I have to protect - and the only way to do that is by protecting myself. They need to know I have some hope, a tiny shred of something they can cling to in knowing I'm not going to give up on them. There are others way more powerful than me, I know that, but I can at least try... right?

All I have is my ability to try, hopefully that will be enough.

* * *

**Lithuania**

* * *

The atmosphere is so thick you could cut it with a knife. At the Training Center, all twenty-five of us are here, but were instructed to wait until the Head Trainer and some late Gamemakers arrive to watch us. I try my best to blend in unnoticeably with some of the smaller nations, hoping not to catch the eye of a certain Russian I'm sure wants to force an alliance with me the moment he can. Although I am debating whether or not I should still be scared of him - now that we're all humans, country strength isn't a factor. He can't hurt me the way he used to. But he's _still_ a huge and powerfully built man. It's even more obvious without his signature coat and scarf to cover up the sheer manpower he's gained over the years.

But I have a feeling this game the sick people of Panem have concocted is won with more than brawn. I'm fast, I can think quickly when the situation calls for it, and I'm a known military strategist. I'm not as hopelessly weak as some of the bigger countries here would like to think, and that gives me an advantage. They won't see me as a threat until it's too late. I never wanted to be here, to kill anyone. In fact, this is the last thing I want, but it's foolish to wish otherwise when your looming fate becomes inevitable. I've accepted the fact that I could die next week, but I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when the burly Head Trainer stomps in and instructs us to form a circle. The moment we're in formation, he begins while I quietly observe the people standing around me - the people who are now my competition for survival. Fear is a predominant emotion amongst them all, some are better at hiding it than others, some not so much. There's a twitch here and there, a sweaty forehead and fists tapping anxiously against their sides. I try to imagine who in this room will be my murderer, who might be a potential companion. I don't know about allies, though. I'd rather try to rough it alone without having to worry about someone else's safety. I can't afford to care about people, not where we're going.

The Head Trainer is brusque and crude in explaining the rules; cannons and pictures in the sky, the deadly forcefield fencing us in, the game's first sixty seconds, warnings about muttations and other Gamemaker tricks that will pop up if there isn't enough killing going on, even sponsor gifts and the reminder that we'll always be on camera. There are so many small, crucial details that I absorb and pay attention to, hoping silently that maybe some of the others are zoning out. It's a selfish thought, but it's a selfish game. Latvia and I meet eyes once as the Trainer calls out the different stations and his small blue gaze is hopeful. I turn away guiltily. I can't be allies with Latvia. Not only am I too attached, I'd have the weight of a child to bear... and I can't have that.

"The game rules are always available for reference at the stations and your apartments." The Head Trainer says when he's finished, eliciting a few sighs of relief. "Spend your time wisely, and you may go."

He flourishes with his hands and we scatter. The Nordic 5 (now 4 with Iceland underwater) are already grouped together and heading for the spears - the other countries like me part on our own. I immediately head over to the survival section, settling in an area reserved for fire starting lessons. I figure that the best use of my three days would be spent learning basic survival skills - anyone can pick up a weapon and attempt to hack their opponent, but if you don't know how to feed yourself and make a shelter, you're out of the running. Huh, there's another advantage I didn't know I had. The richer nations don't know how to be hungry, not like I and some others do. We've had some hardships to toughen us. _From Russia himself, no less._ I recall with a shudder.

The instructor looks surprised to see me and I figure he didn't expect many visitors. And he's right too - the weapons section is definitely stealing the spotlight. I nod and try to soak in everything the instructor is telling me about the different kinds of wood I might encounter as I quickly rub hickory branches together though I'm barely getting a spark. It's frustrating how impossible this situation is. How am I supposed to remember all these facts and details when someone is trying to choke the life out of me?

Just as I'm about to give up and move onto another kind of wood, I hear footsteps behind me followed by the gentle thud of someone landing on the mat to my left. I hide my disappointment at the loss of solitude and face the new arrival. Poland is grinning like a mad man, his straight blonde hair falling to one side with his head cocked like a playful puppy. Oh, wonderful.

"What are you doing here, Poland?" My tone is neither polite nor hostile.

"What do you mean?" He asks in mock confusion. "I thought we could, like, go to whatever station we wanted. Or did I miss that..."

"I _mean_," I continue exasperated. "What are you doing _here_ with me?"

He's obviously trying to stifle a giggling fit. "Like, _chill yourself_, girl! I just want some wood! Any of you guys got wood?" Poland's eyes sparkle with mischief and I can tell from the way he's smiling that there's something I'm missing.

"Poland, what do you want?" I sigh, refusing to be drawn into my friend's game. It seems attachment is my worst enemy in the Arena so far.

"I just want _woooooooood_." He drawls, eyes wandering down to my... OH. "Why do you, like, have to make it so hard?"

My face burns a bright red as the incredibly stupid and immature meaning catches up to me and Poland erupts into a fit of laughter, collapsing and even crying at my expression. He's slapping the floor and cackling like a maniac, drawing much unwanted attention around the gym. The instructor pretends not to hear us, but I notice his small smile of amusement. I feel my face turn a shade redder at the stares, if possible. Why does Poland always have to do this? But in spite of myself, I'm eventually laughing right along with him like we're talking alone on our hill, far away from here. I quickly snap myself out of it. No, I can't let Poland do this to me - whether he means to or not, he's throwing me off my game. My only chance of survival.

"Poland, unless you've really come here to learn how to make a fire, which I highly doubt, I don't think this is the station for you." I try to sound commanding, but I catch my voice wavering at the end. He's stopped laughing now, meeting my gaze with determination.

"Liet, you can't go into this alone." He says with a tone that surprises me with its sincerity. I shake my head sadly, refusing his words.

"No... I think being alone is my only chance. Please, it'll only make it hurt more if we're together." He knows what _it _is. The inevitable.

"I -," Poland pauses and sighs. "I want to spend my last days with you, okay? There's no one else I want to have my back. No one."

My entire strategic basis for training has gone out the window, dissolved into a pair of green eyes I've been desperately trying to avoid since the moment I've left the elevator. It would probably be in my best interest to get up and leave now, leave Poland to his own devices and try to find somewhere else secluded. Somewhere I can't be haunted by the faces of people who will have to die for me to win. I meet his pleading gaze with weakened will, resisting the urge to run from this horror they call a 'game'.

"We can, like, be a whole alliance - you and I, we could do it." Poland persists.

He extends his hand, his face serious but holding a certain gentle touch to the light smile and the way he looks at me. Within a week, I, him, or both of us will be dead. As districts, we'll never see each other again. If one of us is a country, we still won't see each other again. And suddenly I want to cling to however much of Poland I'll have left, no matter how it will effect me later. He is right, after all. There's no one else I want to have my back. I take his hand with a small smile.

"Alright." I agree, solidifying my choice. "We're allies."

* * *

**Greece**

* * *

"It's probably for the best."

Ukraine only smiles sadly in response to my words, keeping her nostalgic gaze locked on her brother across the gym. My eyes follow her trail of sight to see the ever looming Russia engaging with the other Allies, although nobody seems to be getting along. As a general outsider to the world powers, I don't really know their relations or reasons behind what they do, but it's clear that their famous team from the second World War was entirely based on military strength. Here an alliance needs trust, an element that's clearly absent from the tensely arguing group gathered by the swords.

"Yes, you might be right." Ukraine agrees unexpectedly, returning to camouflage her arm like grass. "I don't really know what I was expecting... I just thought since we'll never be able to see each other again we could all be together one last time - like the old days."

She looks back at me and forces a laugh.

"It's silly, I know. Why would someone as big and strong as Russia stick with me? My brother can win this, and I don't want to hold him back. For the best, right?" Ukraine says.

"For the best." I concur, mindlessly rolling a blueberry between my fingers instead of painting.

What real chances do the two of us have against those military gods anyways? My country couldn't even touch the forces of Panem when they invaded - we were all screwed the moment I set foot in this wretched place. I can feel Ukraine's pain though... I'd tried to forge an alliance with my old friend Japan, but he was dead set on trying to reunite the Axis. He thinks I'd be a burden but can't say it to my face out of politeness. Some things never change. The berry squashes in my hand, leaving a trail of natural ink running down the skin. God, I miss my cats. I hope they're being taken care of back home... I didn't get the chance to say goodbye. Or sneak them along.

"I miss my cats." I decide to murmur out loud, smearing a cat doodle on my arm with the blueberry's juice.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Ukraine apologizes and when our eyes meet, I'm surprised to find true sympathy there. As though in sync, our gazes lower back to our respective projects but the air of empathy remains.

"I didn't have any pets back home." She continues conversationally. "I had to work dawn to dusk in my country's farmland just to put enough food on the table for myself - I simply couldn't afford another mouth to feed. I _have_ always wanted one, though. They're so cute with their furry little paws and whiskers. Whenever Belarus and I used to visit Russia's house, his cat..."

Ukraine swallows and falls silent in thoughts of her brother. As if on cue, I fill the gap again.

"They are very cute." I start, coaxing the nation's attention back to me. "I wasn't a super rich country myself - I always felt like I was drowning in dept - but there's a certain comfort in the love of a cat knowing that they'll never judge you for things like money, power, or body odor. All they want is some food scraps and they're happy... I miss them so much."

I'm surprised to feel a gentle hand rest on my shoulder and look to see Ukraine's shifted closer in an act of comfort.

"This game has taken everything, hasn't it?" She says. I agree without hesitation.

We continue to talk quietly for a few more minutes about our old lives before the instructor comes to check our progress. Ukraine receives a perfect score for camouflage and I get an extravagant fed up gesture with the instructor's hands flying up in frustration. I'd find it funny if she didn't then make me clean up the whole station and our arms afterwards. I feel remorseful washing away Ukraine's intricate grass design, complete with streaks of sunlight and shadow and overlapping stems. It's simply too beautiful to dissolve, but it has to be done. When the station is spotless, the instructor releases us with a pleased smirk on her face.

"Where to next, Greece?" Ukraine asks, her eyes skimming over the gym's impossible number of stations.

The question catches me off guard, since we'd only ended up in the same place by chance the first time and it's not like we'd cemented any kind of alliance. Logically, this would be where we'd part ways, but for some reason I'm more comfortable with her by my side. I don't think we've ever even spoken before today; admittedly, she used to just be the girl with the gigantic breasts at World Meetings. I like getting to know this new side of her, the side that thinks and feels. I decide to roll with it.

I shrug and we stand silently for a moment, observing all the stations. The Nordics are milling around the weapons section and the other nations stay well out their way while they do so. I catch myself watching Denmark easily slice and stab his way through a dummy maze with a giant battle axe, red cotton imitating blood tumbling out onto the gym floor. He briefly gazes over me and I avert eye contact immediately, suppressing a shiver. It's better I don't provoke any kind of reaction from them. My best chance is under the radar... and it's way too easy to imagine myself as one of those beheaded, disfigured dummies spewing red.

However, the weapons section on the opposite side of the gym looks relatively unoccupied and I point it out to Ukraine, who nods and follows me to an empty station displaying several different kinds of throwing knives and targets. A sprightly young man bounces up to attention at the sight of our arrival and eagerly demonstrates a proper grip for throwing all the different knives. Before either of us can get a word in, he shoves a pack of delicately curved blades into Ukraine's hands and ushers her in front of the targets. I'm gifted a heavier set that resembles more of what you'd find in a butcher's shop and am placed right next to her.

Shakily, she takes the first shot letting out a grunt of effort. The knife clatters to the floor about three feet too far and two feet to the left of her target. Blushing, she goes to collect it when I hear soft laughter emanating from the bow-and-arrows station next to us. Surprised as I'd been sure the area was abandoned, I turn to see the inconspicuous figure of Canada blend back into the atmosphere and continue fitting his next arrow into the bow. Curious, I look to the blonde man's target to find several arrows lodged into the human diagram's shoulders, legs, and one lucky hit to the heart. _Not a bad shot._ I think before looking away. _No more, Greece. _Ukraine is enough for me. Does that mean I want her as my ally? Am I willing to open myself up to having someone in the Arena?

"Ukraine?" I call, drawing her attention away from attempting to hit the target.

"Yes?" She answers, seeming happy for the distraction.

"Um, I'd like to be your -," Ally? That's what I need. That's what this game of death and murder calls for, but it's not what I want. Realistically, neither one of us will be walking out of here alive which means our days to enjoy life as we know it are numbered. If... if I'm going to die no matter what, then I want more than just an ally beside me. It's something Russia and Japan don't understand, never will because their fighting chance gives them hope. I have nothing beyond these next few days.

"I'd like to be your friend."

* * *

**France**

* * *

The spear flies from my hand and plunges into the diagram's stomach. It hits its mark hard enough that if it was a real person on the receiving end of my blow, it would have gone right through. I wince in spite of myself at the image - I've never been one for gore or bloodshed, and my glory days of battle are so far behind me they're hazy in memory. The war I've just fought was extremely humiliating to say the least. I still can't believe I had to ask _England_ of all people for help - and we still lost. I stop throwing for a moment, pretending to be engrossed in cleaning my next spear when in reality I just need a break.

Alas, I am not the sprightly military star I used to be, but I'm still strong and that's something I have going for me here. And you know what? I don't need any of those other stupid allies to make my victory a reality - if anything, they were only bringing me down. We couldn't win WWIII together and we definitely can't all win this together. I'm so sick of being under-appreciated in that group just because I'm not completely drunk on nuclear weapons or four freaking thousand years old. I honestly don't know why we even tried working together again. I wouldn't trust any one of them if they were the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

I'm perfectly fine on my own, China can go be China, and the three biggest figureheads in this building can die at each other's throats. I'm surprised to find myself regretting my words almost immediately, the deep sadness from this morning sinking back in. True, England's a huge dick and I've spent thousands of years fighting him, but I've never hated him. If anything, he was my best adversary and just so _easy_ to get mad (he has the cutest mad face). He's my favorite enemy... and I know for a fact that small alliance he stormed off with when we all split will stab him in the back without thinking.

America may be England's brother, but he's only ever cared about himself and that's never going to change. But even if that trigger-happy narcissist doesn't strike first, it'll be that creep Russia. He was practically dragging the two nations away. That alliance was built to collapse on itself and there's nothing I can do but cheer on the cannons and try to survive - it's despicable. And the truth is... I'm scared to be alone. I throw the next spear which lodges square into the diagram's chest, a perfect kill. The instructor claps for me, but there's something in that grin of his that looks very unstable. Then again, he's preparing us all for slaughter.

"Congrats, Francey pants!" I turn to meet a very familiar smirk. "You're almost as good as the _awesome_ Prussia! But not quite."

"Oh, you think you can do better, mon ami?" I rise to the bait as though no time has passed between us at all. He's just so full of it.

"Are you kidding? I could do that asleep upside-down on a moving train in the dark!" Prussia crows in his gravelly voice.

"Prove it." I scoff, crossing my arms challengingly.

"Fine!" He cackles like a maniac and grabs the tallest spear on the rack. "Prepare to be obliterated by the awesome wrath of my supreme awesomeness, loser!"

I roll my eyes appearing uninterested while the cocky albino sets up his shot, a look of focused determination taking over his features. He takes a deep breath and just when I think he's about to throw it, his arm freezes mid-formation and the smirk returns.

"Wait, you have to owe me something!" He claims loudly, lowering the spear. "You didn't think I'd just let you get away after utterly destroying you with my awesomeness, did you?"

"Wouldn't _dream_ of it." I'm pleased to hear my bored response laced with sarcasm.

"Okay, after I destroy you you owe me... a favor I haven't thought of yet!" Prussia's eyes gleam. "It'll suck for you though."

I laugh and shake my head, holding out my hand to shake on it. "Deal - and when you blow it, you owe me something."

He cackles again and grabs my hand roughly, almost like he's trying to break it. "Game on, French fry."

Smirking, he lets go and returns to his spot in front of the target. Our bet has caught the undivided attention of the creepy instructor and I try my best to ignore his gaze burning through the back of my head, instead keeping my eyes focused on Prussia setting up his shot once more. His stance calms and his fingers lax and curl aground the weapon, gripping it firmly. His bright red eyes lock on the target, stiff and unmoving. The self-loving lunatic from just a few seconds before has melded into someone completely level-headed and I can't help but admire his self-control. Prussia draws out the spear, he breathes, and he lunges forward.

I burst out laughing uncontrollably, bending over and wiping tears from my eyes at the sight before me. Prussia, red-faced, has his shoulders hunched forward in embarrassment and I think I can even hear him growling which only makes me laugh harder. The spear is lodged right in the diagram's would-be junk, just grazing the crown jewels. Definitely not a kill, definitely makes me wish I had my "espionage" camera. Still laughing to the point of not breathing, I saunter over and wrap my arm around the steaming nation's shoulders, grinning like a cheshire cat.

"Now let's see, what to make you do..." I contemplate teasingly between shaky breaths.

"I still kinda won!" He wined, unsuccessfully trying to shake me off. "How would you like it if I shot you in the balls, huh? You wouldn't!"

"_It's not __deadly, you have to serve me!_" I sing cheerfully, now playing with the Prussian's face and squeezing him tighter.

"Shut up! I'll blow _your_ junk off, Frenchie!" He shouts, but I see the laughter in his eyes and that's all that matters.

"Ah, let's keep our pants for today, alright mis amigos?" A smooth Spanish accent voices from Prussia's other side and a tanned arm slings over his shoulders. My smiles widens - the trio is now complete.

"Plenty of time to blow our junk off tonight." Spain winks and wraps all three of us in a giant hug so we're all laughing.

When we finally pull away, I'm able to breathe properly but my mind is unfortunately drawn back into the world of the Arena. As we all catch our breaths and calm down, I can tell the same thing is happening to my two best friends from centuries past. We settle into a saddened silence for a moment when it dawns on us we'll never be the same. I can't take it, so I break the pause immediately.

"Spain, have you heard that I recently conquered Prussia?" I ask slyly.

"So I've heard." He smiles and turns thoughtfully to our albino friend. "You should put him in one of those sexy little maid outfits." He leans in close. "Make him clean for you."

"_Ha ha_, very funny guys." Prussia rolls his eyes at us. "What's it really gonna be, jackass?"

"Hmm..." I tap my fingers on my chin and look him up and down. A brilliant, if a little boring for lack of sex, idea comes. Still brilliant though. I turn my head and whisper it into Spain's ear, further infuriating the Prussian. Spain raises an eyebrow at me in surprise (because I always play the sexy card), but grins and nods his head in approval. In sync, we turn and grin at our victim.

"Bodyguard for life. Both of us, 24/7, no exceptions. You'll take bullets for us." I decree, leaving an equally confused Prussia who looked sure he'd be in a maid outfit.

"So does that mean we're allies or something? That's all?" He checks.

"No, Spain and I are. You're our subordinate." I correct him and he smirks at me.

"You're both idiots. I was gonna stick with you guys anyway." He chides.

Before I know it, the ever affectionate Spain again initiates a group hug that lingers slightly longer than the last one. We are in a place of murder and betrayal, a place that demands one survivor whose hands will certainly not be clean. The three of us have mopped the floor with our competition before and here those skills will ultimately be put to the test. This is the absolute last place I want to be, but now that I'm here there is no escape but victory. At least in the meantime before I do what it takes to win, I'll have my crew at my side.

* * *

**Belarus**

* * *

Three small vials are placed linear on the mat, equal distance apart. Varying liquids shimmer behind the glass; one is purely transparent, one a milky white, and one jet blue. I've seen these before at Brother Russia's house and have since been collecting them. Back home, I unfortunately never found the perfect opportunity to release my beautiful, silent killers into the wild to hunt - they were always so beautiful to me and I hated to waste them. But here they will finally bite. If I'm being perfectly honest, I couldn't be more infuriated with this game than I am now. My entire life has been spent for my big brother, all for him.

Every breath I took and the hardships I faced were all so I'd live to see him. To protect him, to hold him, to love him, to keep him forever. Every day held the chance I'd see my Russia again and make sure I was his only. He's the only one for me, and I for him. Our souls were bound the moment I first met the deep purple of his eyes and knew he had to be mine. Russia has the kindest heart and the darkest soul, two extremes at war in his strong arms. They're the only place I've ever truly felt safe and now they're gone.

Any chance I had of one day claiming the heart of my love has been snatched away by some bitch who thinks she can get away with it. Well, I know better. The Hunger Games won't last forever and when she falls I'll be there. I'll be right there to watch it. But right now there's other work to be done and I can't yet entertain my fantasies of ripping her apart and going home with my family. Yet. I know there is only one winner and I know going home with Russia and Ukraine is a pipe dream in the Arena, so right now what I need most is a legitimate plan - which I have. If I can't go home with big brother, then he has to at least.

I don't blame him for the mistakes he's made - that he's still making - not being with me, because I know it's not his fault. It's the evil trance of western powers tricking him into staying away. They think they know everything, they call him a monster and force him away but they won't succeed in ending him. Not while I'm here. Whether he wants it or not, I will be with him every step of the way, protecting him from the shadows. Across the gym, America's obnoxious laughter echoes off the walls where England's apparently been mauled by the martial arts instructor. Russia simply smiles off to the side, a casual onlooker of the furious Brit's predicament.

I shake with anger just looking at their faces, the countries that took my brother. When the Allies split, did he come after me? No, he couldn't. They took him away. They took Big Brother, and for that they will suffer worse than death. Everyone here means nothing to me but my brother... and Ukraine, rest her soul, I hope her end is quick. And that I won't be responsible. That I can tear into her killer even if I know she'd never have won. I won't win either because Russia must be free. He must be, for I know that one day far from now my love will return to save me so we can be together again. First I must save him.

If saving him means picking off every last one of these weak nobodies, then so be it. I force myself to wrench my burning violet gaze from the back of America's head and onto the tray of waiting poisons. Poison, a deceptively bloodless weapon. If I get the pleasure to make its acquaintance in the Arena, it will do its work where I need it while I hunt dear Russia's threats with my knives. Poison, a quick and bloodless death for the innocents here I never bothered to know. Knives, a long and blood-soaked end for those that deserve the wrath of my blades. Knives won't be too hard to get a hold of, but spotting vials in a Bloodbath might prove challenging.

"Excuse me miss?" I ask the instructor politely.

She eagerly snaps to attention at my voice, happy to help with something. She'd been so aggravatingly keen on teaching me when I first came to her station, even though I kept telling her I knew everything there was to know about poison. I just wanted to see what would appear at the Cornucopia. Eventually, she gave up allowing me to think, but now I unfortunately have to reawaken the beast.

"Concerning the faster-acting poisons, which one is least painful?" I ask, causing her to sigh like I've disappointed her with the question.

I frown. I know these people are sadistic, but seriously? I sit and wait patiently for her response as I think about how I've never actually used any of these before, what it will feel like to watch it work, what it would feel like if it was killing me. She picks up the transparent poison's vial and swirls it around, her eyes maliciously following each and every turn the deadly liquid makes... do I look like that?

"If you're going for a painless death, poison shouldn't be your first option. Though this produces a quick and clean death, your victim will suffer for about twenty or so seconds. The poison produces internal bleeding on a massive scale... impressive for such a dainty little thing, don't you think?" She smiles.

I will admit that I _do _genuinely think it's impressive, but at the same time I want to spare my torture to those that deserve it. I don't agree with putting incapables through misery if they haven't wronged me or my love. I'm not cruel like that, I just need them dead.

"What do you suggest as an alternative to poison that provides a clean and merciful death?" I try again.

"Well," She sighs _again._ "There's strangulation, it's not too painful, but the torture is in the person feeling their life fade from their bodies. Look kid, I'll be frank with you. The ways that keep the blood from falling usually hurt the most. But an arrow to the head, a knife to the throat, blood is all part of the Game and those sort of methods are the only way you're going to get that painless death."

This time I sigh and her smile returns. I decide that I hate her smile.

"Honestly, you're only a little girl. Your chances are slim, but when that gong goes off and you're running for your life to gather as much supplies as possible and not get killed, a vial of poison is a lot harder to spot than a sword or a spear. Think it over." She advises.

_Little girl?! _I scowl at the smug instructor's stupid face and storm off without another word. I'm done with poison... maybe. At least the poison station. Who is she to tell me how to kill? I can kill however way I want and if that way's quick and painless, then that's that! I hate her comments so much I approach the fire-starting station just to snap a tree limb in half and continue walking. It does make me feel better, able to think straight. How I kill will depend on the situation... after all, this isn't about me. This is about doing everything I can to protect my big brother. I just have to think of it as a game. It _is_ a game after all, and I've always been good at games.

* * *

**America**

* * *

I collapse onto a plush velvet couch, not bothering to change out of my training clothes or make it to the bed. I'm not used to the feeling of being completely and utterly exhausted like I am now, and I have to say I'm not a fan. I haven't let any of the others know, not even England, but the war leeched away so much of my old strength that just this one day of training was a fair workout. Not even a year ago I was tossing cars around, blowing stuff up, being the total badass I am... and now, I'm old? It's not right, none of it is. The hero doesn't get weak. The hero doesn't lose. The hero doesn't let his people down because of anything.

I was supposed to be able to fix it on my own, but the disasters piled up one after another and the death count kept rising... by the time I finally gave in and asked for help, it was already too late. _She_ was there, young and ambitious with the devil in her eyes. The borders were blocked, communications cut, even the airways were guarded. I was locked in while my own citizens pledged allegiance to Panem, the girl who promised to save them all when my government couldn't. They burned the government, and that's when I felt myself truly weaken. It wasn't the destruction of my land and leaders that caused it, but the dwindling faith in America - me.

The rest of the war I spent sick in bed drifting in and out of consciousness, so I had no way of knowing how the rest of the world fared without me. And then the end came. Yesterday morning when I woke my fever had gone, my energy and appetite restored, and for once I didn't feel like I was dying. I thought the other nations had come to my rescue and overthrown Panem. How rich that story looks now. I laugh hollowly and curl deeper into the sofa, stifling a groan with the movement. I'm definitely stronger than yesterday, but nowhere near up to my 100%. Fortunately, I have a pretty good poker face when I need it and it's easy to fake arrogance after doing it for so many years. The only change is that up until now I had the power to back it.

But no matter. As long as everyone else still thinks I'm a sizable threat, I will be. If I can survive my own alliance that is. When the Allies split, my first instinct was England. I had to grab England and get as far away as possible from everyone else. He's been my constant since I was a colony and quite honestly the only other person in the world I trust. I should've moved faster, though. Russia, who had suspiciously stuck on our side of the argument, practically dragged to two of us away as if we were already allies as soon as the split was made. I still could have fought him off upon arriving at the next station... but something stopped me.

Russia and I are night and day, bitter adversaries. Sometimes our relationship is so icy it's as if the Cold War never ended. We could very well have destroyed each other a long time ago if we weren't so evenly matched, if we didn't bear the weights of the last two superpowers. But now that we're all human, everyone is nearly equal in fighting chance so there will be no holding back. The only problem is, we're not so evenly matched anymore. I know it. He knows it. And he's soaking it up as much as one Russian possibly can.

He's planning something special for me, I know it, but I haven't figured out his game yet. It probably involves England too - sick bastard. This should be all the more reason to stay away, but I feel like if I keep him close in the Arena it'll be harder for him to surprise us. Keep your friends close and enemies closer they say. I sigh and force myself to a sitting position where I'm not staring at the ceiling, casually stretching out my muscles in the process. Yeah, this is too much thinking for one day - I'll just give myself a headache. I'm about to trudge off to bed when a figure steps out from a corner draped in shadow, seemingly been there the whole time.

"Don't act so surprised. The morning announcement should've explained that you'd have a roommate." She deadpans.

"Yeah, a roommate. Not the devil." I growl offensively. Panem rolls her eyes in disinterest.

"We had an odd number of tributes, and it wouldn't be fair if you got a whole apartment to yourself while everyone else had to share." She reasons without emotion. "So here I am."

"Right, right. We all know how much you'd hate to be unfair." I bite back sarcastically, earning a ghost of a smile.

"Right." Panem responds in all seriousness. "If you were still a country, you'd know much everyone is looking forward these Games - to seeing you die. Now answer me something. I've always wondered how it was possible for one nation to fail _so badly_ that their own people want to see that."

She raises her eyebrow in mock curiosity, but I don't dignify the question with an answer. I'd leave if I were the dominant one.

"Oh, right." She 'remembers'. "You left _them_ to die."

Screw dominance, I'm leaving now. I walk away in a dignified manner, and Panem does nothing to stop me until I reach the door.

"With that said, I do hope you win." She says. I want to be uninterested, to slam the door behind me, but curiosity forces my pause.

"Considering the fact that your land is now mine, your population is now mine, and your victory would mean that I won't have to give up any of the others." She smiles, her dyed red hair catching in the moonlight. "You'll be alive and conscious sure, but powerless. You'll rely on me for everything and be grateful I care enough to care. Maybe one day you'll even grow to like me as much as you hate me. Yes, it would be wonderful if you win."

I slam the door behind me before she can finish her last sentence and immediately proceed to punch a hole in the wall. I involuntarily grunt in pain, pulling back bloodied knuckles. Shit. That never hurt before. It's now that I remember humans retain their injuries, and that at this point they'll put me in the Arena no matter what state I'm in. Although by now I'm too exhausted and overwhelmed from the day to fully grasp what this will mean for me (if I wasn't, I probably would have made another hole). Instead, I angrily strip down to my underwear and bury myself into the king sized bed which has already been turned down for sleep. I notice some neatly folded pajamas left on one of the nightstands, but I'm too tired to get up and change.

If I thought I couldn't win before, I definitely can't now. Surely whatever hell that greets the life of a District can't be any worse than being Panem's lapdog for who knows how long - heroes have to die with dignity. Anyone but me can win the Games for true freedom, a true life beyond this, and I have no right to take that away for selfish gain. Panem took everything from me, but she won't last forever and I'll spend every living second until then fighting her control for the values of liberty I've always held close. I know now that my new mission as the world's hero is to bring down this kingdom and the Hunger Games. But to do that, someone else has to win as my outside man… predictably, my first instinct in England.

* * *

**A/N: Yay, here's for the first official chapter! Please leave a review if you can so I at least know someone is reading this (; Okay, I'll ask some ****questions to get the ball rolling - Favorite POV and why? Any really early predictions for the Victor? I'd love to hear your thoughts; praise and criticism are both accepted but flame and rage are for meanies. (:**

**Thanks for reading,  
-StripedFuzzySocks-**


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